


(Something) Blue Moon

by Moosey



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Buffy Gets Sterek'd, Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Freeform, Fluff and Crack, Humor, I took serious liberties with this Buffy ep, M/M, POV Stiles, Pre-Slash, Spells Gone Wrong, Sterek Week 2016, scene stealer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: “Lyds, you know that it’s a bad idea. To be messing with that at the best of times is… not the smartest thing ever, but when you’re hurting like this? You can’t focus like you need to.” “Can’t I,” Lydia says flatly, giving Stiles a look laden with challenge. “Okay, amending that,” he back peddles. “You probably don’t have the same level of laser focus you do under normal circumstances,” Stiles says, trying to placate. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It didn’t work. A simple ‘I will it so’ spell and I can’t even manage that."------In which Buffy gets a Teen Wolf makeover. Jackson leaves town and Lydia is heartbroken. Her ways of coping are slightly disastrous for the rest of the pack, because now Sterek is a thing, Peter is having trouble seeing, and Scott is being chased by monsters...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I Sterek'd one of my fave Buffy episodes, and I regret nothing. 
> 
> Sterek week is fuuuuuun!!! 
> 
> P.S - I'm not doing all the days. I cherry picked :D

**** Stiles is walking through the bustling foyer of the main hall at Beacon Hills College, weaving past people with his hands hooked around the straps of his backpack, a smirk on his lips. His eyes are on a group of girls surrounding a man on a ladder, and all gazing up at the banner that he was stretching up to hang. Stiles recognises the broad Henley-clad shoulders of the man, and can’t help his laughter when the guy reaches up to flip over the folds of the sign, righting it and declaring BEACON HILLS LESBIAN ALLIANCE in bold red capital letters on a pale pink background. 

“Dude, something you need to tell me?” Stiles asks, smirking as Derek climbs down with grace and tenses up slightly at the girls - the Beacon Hills Lesbian Alliance, Stiles presumes - pat him on the arms in thanks. 

“Obviously. I am a lesbian,” Derek replies dryly, rolling his eyes and making his way over to Stiles. 

“It’s good you’re so open about it,” Stiles nods sagely, as he claps Derek on one strong shoulder. 

Derek sighs heavily and turns to walk away, assured that Stiles will follow along. He does, of course he does, bumping their shoulders a little as they go. 

“What’re you doing here?” Stiles asks. 

“You know we talked about a pack picnic?” Derek replies, shoving his hands in his pockets, heading for the doorway. 

“Uh, what? We were talking about a pack picnic?” Stiles queries, trying to remember the conversation. He’s pretty damn sure he wouldn’t forget planning a pack picnic with Derek, and yet here he is, totally in the dark about their supposed picnic plans. 

“Wait, we didn’t discuss that?” Derek asks, coming to a stop and looking slightly worried now. His brow is creased into a frown, and his eyes are getting shuttered. 

“Um. No? Not that I can recall?” 

“Oh,” Derek says weakly, removing his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms. Classic defensive pose. 

“Hold up. Did you… imagine a conversation between us?” Stiles asks, amused. And also peculiarly more than a little flattered. 

Derek mumbles something low and incoherent then, so Stiles prods him with his forefinger, poking Derek in the bicep. Over and over. “Dude, dude, dude, what was that? Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he intones. 

Derek huffs out an aggrieved sound, and swats at Stiles’ poking finger, finally grabbing it mid-jab and holding it steady. “I _said_ , sometimes I maybe practise conversations with you. In my head.” 

“Oh.My.God.” Stiles breathes out, mouth dropping open. “That might be the cutest thing I have _ever_ heard.” 

“I sometimes need to do a little prep work before our conversations,” Derek argues, still holding Stiles’ pointer finger between them. “And I’m not cute _.”_

Stiles just gapes at him with an open mouthed grin, and he can literally feel himself radiating happiness at the idea of Derek caring enough about their conversations to _practise_ them. 

“It’s tricky!” Derek exclaims, finally glancing down and noticing his hold on Stiles’ finger. He drops it, and reaches one arm across himself to scratch at his heavily stubbled cheek. “It’s like… an oral exam or something.” 

Stiles pulls a face at him, and rocks his weight back on his heels. “Well thanks man, that’s just what every dude wants to hear. That talking to them is like an _exam.”_

“I just… You’re smart, and funny, and quick. I never know how you’re going to react to stuff. It’s probably why I tolerate hanging out with you so much. You keep me on my toes.” Derek shrugs, “you know, when you aren’t being insufferably annoying,” he amends. 

“Nope, nuh uh. No take backs. You totally looooove hanging with me, and you think I’m _smart_ , and _funny_ , and _quick_. Gosh Derek, I’m almost swooning over here,” Stiles grins, flapping his hand around like he’s fanning his face. 

“Shut up,” Derek says, narrowing his eyes in a glare. His lips are doing that pursing thing though, and he looks like he’s trying not to smile, so Stiles counts it as a win. 

It’s always a win when he can make stoic and scowly Derek Hale smile. 

Though there’s always the chance he’s smiling because he’s in his happy place, envisioning punching Stiles in the face. That’s a definitely possibility too.

“So,” Derek says slowly, starting to walk again. “How’d you think the pack would feel about a picnic?” 

 

*****

 

“So you can’t describe them?” Stiles asks, sighing. He opens up his box of noodles, and sets it on the table to snap his chopsticks apart. Sometimes he wishes the wolfy portion of the pack would at least try to be a little bit more observant when it comes to potential threats in Beacon Hills. Instead they just plod along and assume their fangs and claws will protect them when the time comes. 

Pro-activeness, people. It’s a very good thing.

“I didn’t see them Stiles,” Derek says with a sigh, having said that at least three times already. 

“Okay but enhanced wolfy senses Derek!” Stiles cries, exasperated. “Can’t you even describe their scent or something?” 

“Oh and what exactly are _you_ going to do with a scent description?” Derek retorts, hiking an eyebrow up. He reaches for the takeout box of beef chowfun that he _always_ orders because it’s the only thing he likes, but Stiles snatches it up before he can get his little wolfy mitts around it. 

“Nah uh dude, not until you give me something to work with,” Stiles taunts, holding the box behind him. And eternally thankful that Derek is sat across from him on the armchair and not next to him on the sofa right now. 

“Stiles,” Derek says warningly. 

“Tell me something useful,” Stiles sing-songs, smiling sweetly at Derek. 

“You are one step away,” Derek says lowly. 

“Scott help! He’s gonna scold me!” Stiles says sarcastically. Scott grunts from the kitchen, barely acknowledging them. Most everyone in the pack is used to this portion of the Derek and Stiles show, with their snarking and goading. Though Stiles bets they would all be taken aback by the times when it’s just the two of them and they actually communicate as friends, who listen and respect each other. When Derek lets his guard down enough to let Stiles in, and see how much he wants the pack to work. 

But in front of the pack? It’s always snark and growled threats, and Stiles _prodding_ at Derek. Endlessly. 

And it’s _fun._

“Mmm, would you look at this,” Stiles says, hungrily. He opens up Derek’s box of food and picks up a sliver of the tender beef, dangling it from between his chopsticks, ignoring Scott as he places a can of soda on the table for Stiles. 

Derek lets out a rumbling growl, but doesn’t move from his seat. His eyes do flash red though. Stiles acknowledges he maybe lacks a sense of self-preservation sometimes.

“Oh please,” Scott scoffs, rolling his eyes and walking away.

“Yummy delicious meat,” Stiles coos, holding it up and tipping his head back to open his mouth. 

“One day I’m going to rip your throat out,” Derek says, lunging forward and snatching the box from Stiles’ hands. “With my teeth.”

Stiles drops the beef into his mouth and chews happily. “You’re all bark and no bite,” Stiles grins at Derek and picks up his own noodles again. Derek makes a grumbling sound but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge Stiles.

“So, Lydia seems like she’s doing better with Jackson leaving, doesn’t she?” Allison asks, walking over and changing the topic. She flops to sit on the sofa next to Stiles, ignoring their antics. They’ve all learned that sometimes, with Stiles and Derek, a topic change is necessary to prevent bloodshed. Not that Derek would ever hurt Stiles. 

“Yeah, I think so. It’s hard, but she’s dealing,” Stiles agrees, digging his chopsticks into the takeout box in his hand. 

“Really? Are you both blind?” Derek snorts, looking up incredulously from his protective hunch over his food. His face scrunches up as he looks at Stiles and Allison like they’re both idiots. “She’s hanging on by a thread,” he says flatly. 

Stiles hums, and takes a thoughtful bite of his noodles, slurping the strands into his mouth. “No, dude. I think she’s doing okay. I’m pretty sure.” 

Allison nods beside him in agreement. “Yeah, she’s going to be fine. Lydia wouldn’t let a guy get her down.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, and mutters, “idiots,” resuming his hunched eating.

 

*****

 

“See, look at her! She’s fine! Derek doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he _barely_ knows Lydia. He’s just all ‘Rarara I’m the Alpha I know best’. Well he _doesn’t_ ,” Scott proclaims, gesturing to where Lydia is currently dancing, sandwiched between two ridiculously hot guys, hair bouncing wildly. “She’s having an awesome time!” 

Stiles and Allison both frown over in Lydia’s general direction, neither one of them sure that Lydia really is okay. “Maybe Derek’s right?” Stiles hedges, drumming his fingers on the table. 

Scott scowls at him, but that’s to be expected. If Derek says the sky is blue, Scott will insist it’s orange, and if Derek says Lydia isn’t okay, Scott will refuse to believe she’s anything but 100% fine. It’s just how they work. 

“She’s just… rebounding,” Scott says, determined to be right. 

“I don’t know man. But, I mean, she is a brave little toaster,” Stiles shrugs, looking to Allison. Who shakes her head. 

“I think we should keep an eye on her,” Allison says. Scott folds his arms, near-pouting mutinously. 

“Hey guys,” Lydia purrs, slinking her way over to their table. “Why is no one dancing with me?” she asks archly, looking to Allison. 

“Good to see you’ve brought your boogie shoes tonight Lyds,” Stiles says, offering her a smile.

“Well I said to myself, there’s no point in wallowing now is there. Not with so many hot men around that I haven’t sampled yet,” Lydia smiles a feral smile and slides onto the bench seat next to Stiles. She plants her purse on the table, but it teeters on the edge and tips over and a small bottle of vodka falls out, rolling to the centre of the table with all of them watching its progress. 

“Lydia,” Allison says carefully, reaching out to touch Lydia’s forearm. 

“So what? I can’t even get drunk now? Is that it?” Lydia asks, pulling her arm back and standing up. 

“Lyds,” Allison says, “drowning your sorrows isn’t going to help.” 

“I’m not drowning my sorrows,” Lydia scoffs. “Not everything is about Jackson. Just because I’m not naive enough to believe my high school sweetheart was my soulmate, and I’m ready to see what else is out there. I’d rather not _settle_ ,” she says pointedly, narrowing her eyes at Allison. 

Scott visibly bristles next to Allison, drawing himself up. 

“I know you’re hurting right now Lydia, which is why I’m going to let that one slide,” Allison admonishes. Her face is set in serious lines, not a dimple in sight. 

“Okay then!” Stiles interjects brightly, clapping his hands together. “I’m gonna take you home Lyds,” he announces, curling a hand around Lydia’s upper arm. 

“No, I don’t want to go,” Lydia protests, tugging in Stiles’ grip. 

“Look Lydia. You’ll thank me when you still have friends in the morning,” Stiles says, no hint of humour in his voice. Lydia blinks up at him with suddenly damp green eyes, and she sags into his grip. 

“Okay,” she agrees quietly, curling her fingers into the bottom of Stiles’ over shirt. “Okay,” she repeats nodding. 

“Come on,” Stiles says, tucking her under his arm and throwing a look of concern over her head to Scott and Allison, before he guides Lydia out of the club. 

Looks like Derek was right after all. 

 

*****

 

“It was worth a shot,” Lydia says, shrugging and pursing her lips as though unaffected. Years of obsessively pining after Lydia, followed by a period during which she’d become one of his best friends meant he could see right through it. She was aiming for nonchalance, and to most, she would have pulled it off. But Stiles could see the wavering in her eyes that belied the hurt she was trying to bury. The hurt that had led to her trying out the stupid spell in the first place. 

“Lyds, you know that it’s a bad idea. To be messing with that at the best of times is… not the smartest thing ever, but when you’re hurting like this? You can’t focus like you need to.” 

“Can’t I,” Lydia says flatly, giving Stiles a look laden with challenge. 

“Okay, amending that,” he back peddles. “You probably don’t have the same level of laser focus you do under normal circumstances,” Stiles says, trying to placate. 

Lydia narrows her eyes at him but sighs and sits back, the fight going out of her in a whoosh. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It didn’t work. A simple _‘I will it so_ ’ spell and I can’t even manage that. It’s just… I still feel like I’m missing parts of myself, and I _hate_ it, Stiles. He was a jackass, but he was _my_ jackass.” 

“I know Lyds.” 

“And I understand he’s doing what’s best for him, but my concern is what’s best for _me_. And it isn’t having all these pieces of me just… gone. It’s irritating,” she scowls, pressing her lips together. 

“You know, it’s okay t-” Stiles breaks off as his phone rings obnoxiously. Derek’s assigned ring tone trilling loudly and breaking the quiet moment between Stiles and Lydia. She rolls her eyes and visibly battons down the hatches on her emotions, so Stiles answers his phone, albeit a little begrudgingly. 

“What’s up?” he asks. He can feel his eyes go wide as he opens his mouth silently. “Are you _kidding me_?” Stiles immediately whisper-yells into the phone, tugging at his hair in frustration. He stands up and begins pacing. “You said you’d wait Derek. You agreed that the plan made sense, and you’d wait for the pack to back you up. You know, like pack is _supposed_ to do?!” 

“Well I saw a chance, and I took it,” Derek hisses back, keeping his voice quiet. Of course he took a chance, all Derek does is take chances. Threat in Beacon Hills? Derek will throw himself at it armed only with a wish and a prayer.

“Goddamn it Derek,” Stiles wails quietly. “You are the biggest pain in the ass I have _ever_ met, and also as stubborn as… I don’t know! _Nothing_ is as stubborn as you, Mr Lone-Wolf.” 

“Are you just going to keep complaining at me, or are you actually going to help me Stiles? Should I just call someone else?” Derek asks flatly. 

“Ugh. No, I’ll help you. I’ll save your stupid furry werewolf butt _again_ , don’t worry. Stiles will ride to the rescue,” he huffs, grabbing his trusty baseball bat, made from Rowan wood and inscribed with protection runes. 

“No Stiles, call the pack-”

“Too late for that Buster,” Stiles states. “You’re getting Stiles, or you’re getting nothing I’m afraid. And I’m not letting you die out there. So you’re getting Stiles. Deal with it.” Stiles hangs up on Derek, ignoring his outraged little sound, and calls up the phone tracking app they use to locate each other, just in case. He finds Derek, and GoogleMaps his location. 

“Wait, you’re going?” Lydia asks from her position on his bed, arms wrapped around her knees. 

“It’s Derek,” Stiles explains, rubbing his jaw. “He’s gotten himself in trouble again.” 

“And he called you?” Lydia says, raising her eyebrows, voice dripping skepticism. “I just mean, you’re human Stiles. What are you going to be able to do that he can’t?” 

“Well, for one, I use my brain. Regularly and often. And we do have a history of saving each others asses, so I guess this’ll just be another one he owes me.” 

“But I thought we were going to eat ice cream and watch The Notebook,” Lydia says quietly. 

“I know Lyds, and I’m sorry. But I have to go, you know that” Stiles soothes. “I don’t know how long this’ll take, but you can stay” he says, leaning down to drop a kiss on Lydia’s head.“Or head to Derek’s and wait? Peter is there, but he’s got a migraine or something, so should leave you alone. Though I actually didn’t think werewolves could _get_ migraines,” he adds thoughtfully. 

“It’s fine, I’ll call Allison. I’m sure she can stand to be parted from Scott for an evening,” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry Lyds,” Stiles says. “I have to go.” 

It takes about fifteen minutes for him to have driven as close to Derek as he can, and another fifteen of him tromping through the preserve, branches hitting him in the face thanks to his distinctly human eyesight in the darkness. He eventually comes to the clearing in question, peering covertly around a tree, and yep. There’s Derek. Standing in the centre of a cage, snarling and red eyed. A man is standing in front of the cage with his back to Stiles, and he’s chanting. Derek is getting increasingly agitated, and he can’t seem to scent Stiles at all, which is concerning.

Stiles steps forward, and hesitates on the boundary of a scorch mark in the grass, following the line of it to see it’s a ring, burned around Derek in the cage, and the man. 

He assumes that it’s protective and that the man - who hasn’t noticed Stiles so far, and nor has Derek - will be made aware of his presence when he crosses the line. At least going by the stuff he’s read from Deaton, that would make sense. The man cuts lines in his palms as Stiles watches and anxiety gnaws at Stiles’ gut because this man is doing blood magic ( _nothing_ good ever comes from blood magic) and he’s going to do something to Derek with it too, which isn’t okay. It’s so very far away from okay, it’s not even in the same universe. 

Stiles decides to just take a chance, gets a good grip on the bat and sets his toe just beyond the scorch mark, bracing himself for a good sprint, and counts down from three in his head. 

Three…

Two…

One… 

Stiles lunges forward in a burst of speed. He crosses the line already with the bat mid swing, and hits the man around the back of the head before the guy has had a chance to even turn and look for the intruder. 

Sometimes just running in guns (bats) blazing actually does work.

Derek is panting in the cage, mouth open and drawing in heaving breaths. He grabs Stiles as soon as he unlocks the cage, having found the keys on the now unconscious warlock dude. Derek shoves his face against Stiles’ hair, and inhales his scent in huge lungfuls whilst Stiles stands there slightly awkwardly, holding his bat loose at his side. 

“Uh… dude?” 

“Smells like burning,” Derek mumbles, voice muffled against Stiles’ hair. It smells like nothing but forest to Stiles, but he shrugs and guides Derek to the scorch mark boundary. 

“Can you cross this okay?” Stiles asks, frowning down at the ground. Derek steps over it, and immediately gulps in a breath. 

“It’s only in the boundaries of whatever that is,” Derek says, waving a hand. “It smelled _awful_.” 

“You couldn’t smell me?” 

“Not until you were suddenly right there,” Derek says, frowning. 

“Huh.” Stiles looks back at the man, and sighs. “Okay hold on.” He walks over and grabs the man by the ankles, dragging him awkwardly with little tugs, rucking up the guy’s robes, until they’re both outside the scorch marks. Which vanish, as soon as the man is outside of them. 

“Okay, that’s kind of cool,” Stiles says, tapping his toe against the grass. 

Derek makes a small grunting sound of what might be acknowledgement, and picks the man up over his shoulder. “Car?” 

“That’a way,” Stiles says, gesturing with his bat. Which now has a blood smear on it. 

“We’ll drop him at Deaton’s,” Derek says, leading the way. “Then you can take me home. I don’t have the car, I was out running.” 

“Oh I can, can I?”

“Yes Stiles. You can.” 

Stiles scoffs, but follows Derek through the woods tapping his bat on trees as they pass. “Oh Stiles, my hero. Thank you for saving me once again. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Stiles mimics under his breath. Derek doesn’t acknowledge him, but he does prevent Stiles from face planting over a tree root with his quick wolfy reflexes, so Stiles will allow it. 

They drive to Deaton’s, where they leave the man in iron cuffs and head on down the stretch of road back to Derek’s house. 

After too much silence, Stiles starts in again. “Oh don’t worry Derek, no need to thank me for saving you. Again. It’s totally fine, not a problem at all. I didn’t have plans tonight, whatsoever.” 

Derek sighs, loudly. 

“And no, no need to apologise for running off by yourself and getting captured. Oh, what was that? I was right? I’m _always_ right? Shucks Derek!” 

“I will gag you Stiles,” Derek grits out. 

Stiles glares at him and parks in front of the Hale house. “I mean I’m flattered, because I do put a lot of effort into research and coming up with plans to keep us safe, and you know you finding those mutilated animals in the woods did worry me. It’s not like I come up with these ideas for shits and giggles, so it’s _nice_ to have you appreciate what I do and wait for pack back up. I’m glad you finally are making smart choices-” he continues. Derek grabs him by the arm and hauls him up the porch steps, effectively stopping Stiles’ increasingly pissed off chattering, and drags him into the house. 

“One more word Stiles, and I swear-”

“What? You swear _what_ , huh big guy?” Stiles argues over Derek, pushing into Derek’s space. “You’re not gonna do anything to me,” he smirks. 

“Peter, I accidentally killed Stiles. That’s okay right?” Derek calls out, glaring at Stiles. 

“What? Hold on a moment,” Peter calls back, sounding slightly bleary and distracted. 

“Woof woof,” Stiles taunts, winking at Derek. 

Derek growls, forcibly backing Stiles up against the wall. 

“All bark…” Stiles drawls. 

“You want me to bite Stiles?” Derek says, eyes going red. 

“You don’t have the stones,” Stiles smirks. 

“Oh I have the st-” Derek halts and gasps mid sentence, blinking rapidly at Stiles. He’s looking confused, overwhelmed, and strangely vacant. It’s more than a little worrying how lost Derek looks suddenly, and all of the anger drains out of Stiles in an instant, replaced by concern. 

He grips Derek’s arm tightly and opens his mouth to speak, to ask what’s wrong. But he loses his words and feels a wave of fuzziness overcome him, followed closely on it’s heels by dizziness. He closes his eyes and leans his shoulder blades heavily back into the wall, breathing slowly, counting to five with each inhale and exhale. 

“If you could just be civil for long enough for us to… Stiles? Derek?” Peter says, his voice close by like he’s standing in the front room doorway. Stiles doesn’t know, doesn’t open his eyes. 

“Stiles?” Derek asks, his voice quiet. Stiles opens his eyes, and his breath catches at the soft look in Derek’s eyes, at how beautiful they are. A wash of colours that combine perfectly in his irises, coming together to create something so indescribable. He’s blanketed by a feeling of safety, of _home_ , staring into Derek’s eyes. 

“Derek,” he breathes out, bringing his hand up to brush against the stubble on Derek’s cheek. His chest swells, a rising tide that feels like too much to contain, and all of it is nothing but pure love for this man standing in front of him. 

“Stiles, I can’t… I-“ Derek stutters, lost for words. “Marry me,” he blurts, eyes catching on Stiles’, looking at him like he’s something wondrous, something precious. 

“This feels so sudden… I, I don’t know what to say!” Stiles blinks at Derek, as Derek’s hands come up to cup his face. 

“Say yes,” Derek says, near pleading. “Make me the happiest man on earth Stiles, and say yes.” 

Stiles grins, bites his bottom lip and a happy laugh bursts from him. “Oh my God. Yes! Yes, Derek, _of course_ it’s yes!” 

“What the hell?” Peter mutters quietly. 

Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck, feels more contented that he can ever remember feeling when Derek slides his strong arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles presses loud kisses to Derek’s face, kissing his jaw, his cheeks, his nose… Derek grins, laughing when Stiles even kisses his front bunny teeth. They both stand there smiling at each other like idiots for a moment, until Stiles notices Peter standing just beyond them, mouth open and gaping like a dumbstruck fish. 

It’s not his best look. 

“Peter! Petey-Pete!” Stiles cries, turning Derek on the spot and hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist. “You’ll never believe what’s happened!” Stiles grins, pressing a noisy kiss to Derek’s cheek. 

“Wha- I-. What,” Peter stumbles over her words, a frown creasing up his forehead as he squints at them. “Jesus, I must be hallucinating. This migraine is making me hallucinate,” he mutters, bringing his hand up to rub at his temples slowly. “That’s got to be it, only plausible explanation,” he decides, turning and walking back into the front room without acknowledging their happy news.

Stiles pouts, watches Peter bump into the end table in a show of entirely uncharacteristic clumsiness, and put a hand out to right the wobbling lamp.He lays down tentatively on the sofa, eyes closing. 

“It’s okay baby, it’s just a shock,” Derek soothes, turning to face Stiles. He kisses him softly, their lips just barely catching before they press together a little more firmly. 

“I know it is,” Stiles agrees. He leads Derek into the front room, pushing him down onto the armchair and clambering into his lap, curling up there. Derek is warm and solid, wrapping him up in his arms. Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s shoulder, listens to the contented sound rumbling in Derek’s chest.

“…Lydia? Yes, there’s something going on. My head was hurting, really quite badly, and now everything is blurring. I can’t see so well. It’s, well. It’s concerning,” Peter is saying from his nest of blankets, cellphone held to his ear. “I think it’s a likely a spell. You know whatever it was my useless nephew claimed he could smell? No, that’s not all, unfortunately. It’s not just my sight. Something else has gone, really, _really,_ wrong,” he adds, glancing over at Stiles and Derek. “So disturbingly wrong…” 

“We have so much to plan,” Stiles mumbles, pressing his mouth to Derek’s hairline on his temple. “Ceremony, guests, reception… Oh oh, we should totally do it on the full moon, for my wolfy-hubby,” Stiles says, sitting up and tapping excitedly at Derek’s chest. 

Derek grins up at him, looking impossibly fond. “That sounds perfect. And there’s a blue moon coming up.”

Peter makes a snorting sound at that. 

“And we can have a cool theme! Like _Star Wars!_ ” 

“Getting less perfect,” Derek says, lifting an eyebrow. 

“No, come on. It’ll be amazing!” 

“We aren’t having a Star Wars themed wedding Stiles,” Derek says firmly. 

Stiles wiggles around in his lap a little and crosses his arms, full on pouting, his lips pursing into a moue of pure unhappiness. “Spoil my fun,” he grouses. 

“Look at that lip,” Derek teases, tickling his fingers lightly into Stiles’ ribs. “Gonna get it,” he purrs, lunging up and attacking Stiles’ mouth in a consuming kiss. 

“Please stop,” Peter says, sounding pained. 

“You’re just jealous me and Der-bear are the power couple now. No more Alpha Derek and Right-Hand Peter, nope. It’s all about Stiles and Derek now,” Stiles sing-songs, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair. It’s so soft! Stiles makes a happy little sound and pets Derek’s head with both hands. “Don’t we look adorable Peter?” Stiles says, leaning his head against Derek’s and smiling. “Who’d have thought I could land such a hottie!”

“I can’t actually tell,” Peter says slowly, blinking owlishly. “And whilst I’m actually thankful for that at this moment, I can’t see _anything_ very well right now,” he says, pressing his fingers to his eyes and rubbing. 

“And hey, Peter,” Stiles says, standing and moving to sit beside Peter, feeling waves of fondness towards him. “I mean, our day, it’s going to be about family. About pack. About the people we love, celebrating with us, you know? Not just Scott, Lydia, Allison… But you too. I want you all up there with us, standing beside us on our big day. As family.” 

“Stiles,” Peter says quietly, eyes going soft. It’s probably the first time since Peter had woken from the coma all those years ago - then rampaged, died, and come back to life - that Stiles has ever acknowledged him as family or pack. Peter frowns at him, almost looking worried, like he’s waiting for the punchline. “Of course I- I mean no! Stiles! For God’s sake! This isn’t real! You aren’t _in love_ with Derek! Though we may have had wagers going as to if you guys would end up having rage-fuelled, hate-sex, you don’t _love_ each other. This is ridiculous. Something it _making_ you act like this. Can’t you see what you’re doing? What’s going on?” Peter exclaims loudly, looking at Stiles like he’s ten shades of stupid. 

“I know what I’m doing Peter,” Stiles says, smiling beatifically. “I’m living the dream,” he gazes at Derek, all stubble and soft hair and even softer smiles. All for Stiles. “We’re happy Peter. We really are.” 

“It’s true,” Derek agrees, reaching a hand out. “It’ll take time though, we understand that.” Stiles goes to him, and sits back in his lap. “But we want this,” Derek says, pressing his forehead to Stiles’. They break apart at the sound of Peter’s phone clattering to the ground. 

“Peter? Are you okay?” Derek asks. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I can’t see anything,” he says sounding flat, blinking blankly. He sniffs at the air and holds his hands out in front of him. Stiles stands and walks slowly towards Peter. 

“Peter?” he asks, voice low. He puts his hand firmly on Peter’s shoulder, trying to ground him through contact. “How is this happening?” 

“It’s a spell I believe. It has to be a spell. Whatever it was Derek scented… he said it smelled like magic.” 

“No, we caught that guy. He’s with Deaton now,” Stiles says, looking to Derek. “But maybe a general reversal spell? Lydia still has that book.” 

“I’ll call her,” Derek says decisively, striding from the room. Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the view of Derek from behind, then squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll text Scotty okay? Get the pack here and together.” 

Peter nods, and leans back, closing his eyes, “yes that’s probably wise. If it’s affecting us, it’ll likely be affecting them too,” he sighs. 

“But only you are being affected?” Stiles says quizzically, scrunching his face up. He doesn’t know why Peter seems to think Stiles and Derek are affected too, but he doesn’t really care. Because magical hi-jinx aside? Stiles can’t remember ever being quite so happy. “Oh!” he yelps. “I need to call my dad!” 

“…I need some Scotch.” 

 

*****

 

Stiles texts Scott to get over to the Hale house ASAP and settles down in the armchair to research whether it’s possible for a spell to blind a werewolf, starting with the bestiary and the handful of websites he’s found have fairly accurate mythological facts. He’s happily clicking through different sites, occasionally glancing up to watch Derek where he sits with an old and worn book in his hands, big hands turning the pages so delicately. He doesn’t realise he’s sighing out a lovestruck little sound until Peter scoffs from his perch on the sofa, and takes a big swallow of Scotch, even though it isn’t doing anything to get him drunk. 

“Hey guys!” Scott yells, bursting through the door with Allison on his heels. Scott is wolfed out and Allison has her bow, notched and ready, grasped in her hands. They slam the door closed and skid into the front room. 

“What the hell?” Derek asks, standing and flashing his eyes. 

“Dude, we’re being chased by like… I don’t know! Monsters and stuff!” Scott pants, sounding outraged and harassed, as though it’s all Derek’s fault. “Help me barricade everything!” Scott grabs at a heavy armoire and drags it over in front of the door. Derek frowns, sniffing the air, and then jolts into motion, pushing where Scott is pulling. “Peter! Help goddamn it!” Scott shouts. 

“Can’t I’m afraid,” Peter says calmly, tilting his glass towards Scott in a salute. 

“What? Why?” Allison asks in an accusatory tone, walking into the room, her eyes rapt on the door. 

“Blind,” Peter announces incongruously cheerful. 

“Okay, that’s great guys, well done. But _what about all the windows_!?” Stiles exclaims, gesturing at the large bay windows in the front room. 

“Shit,” Scott says, eyes going wide. 

“This is the team that foiled my revenge plans?” Peter queries, taking a sip of Scotch. “I’m _deeply_ ashamed.” 

Stiles huffs, ignoring Peter completely, and pushes his armchair away from the windows turning it so it faces them. He sits and puts his laptop back on his lap, tapping the keys to wake it up. Derek walks up behind him and leans over the back of the chair as Stiles twists and cranes up to kiss him. “I’ll keep watch,” Derek says against Stiles’ mouth. 

“Dude?? What the fuck?!” Scott yells, arms flailing out in a gesture that would look more at home on Stiles. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him,” Scott snarls, lunging at Derek. 

“Hey dude no!” Stiles shouts, scrabbling up and over the back of the chair, putting himself between Scott and Derek. “Scotty, I wanted to tell you this in person. Me and Derek,we’re a thing. And we’re getting married,” Stiles says, smiling tentatively at Scott. He leans back against Derek’s chest. “I want you to be happy for me bro, _please_. I love him.” 

Scotts face performs a weird peristalsis, shifting through a series of incredulous and horrified expressions. “Are you joking? Is this weird Stiles humour that I don’t get?”

“No, Scott. I’ve never been more serious.” 

“Oh my God,” Scott says weakly, taking steps backwards until he finds the sofa and sinks down next to Peter. 

“So you and Derek are getting married? As of when?” Allison asks. 

“This evening,” Stiles beams. 

“And Peter is blind as of this evening too?” 

“Yep,” Peter says, popping the P. His feet are propped on the coffee table, and looks entirely too relaxed about all of this. “And stop what you’re doing Scott, you smell like fruit roll ups.” 

Scott freezes where he’d been waggling his fingers in Peter’s face, looking sheepish.

“So it’s a spell,” Allison surmises. 

“Exactly. Smart girl, aren’t you?” Peter says. 

“Why don’t they understand how happy we are baby?” Stiles says, turning and looping his arms around Derek’s neck. 

“Oh sure, you’re marrying Derek because of what a _nice guy_ he is and how _right_ you guys are for each other,” Scott snorts. 

“They’ll understand in time,” Derek assures Stiles, pressing his nose to his throat and scenting him. Stiles makes a happy little sound and kisses Derek noisily. 

“Oh dude,” Scott breathes out, sounding traumatised. “Can I be blind too?” 

“Oh but you can still _hear_ it, the enthusiastic smacking sound,” Peter grimaces. “Never have I cursed enhanced werewolf hearing more than I do right now.” 

“Dude,” Scott says, sounding sympathetic. 

“Are we going to research this then, or just stand around making me want to throw up?” Peter asks, all faux-sweetness. 

“Mmm, babe, stop,” Stiles says, swatting at Derek and breaking the kiss. “Research, right. I can do that. I’m king of research. Stiles and the Google-fu to the rescue,” he says, sitting and grabbing his laptop again, this time plopping down next to Scott. 

“Seriously Stiles?!” Scott squawks, leaning over to look at the screen. 

“What?” Stiles asks, defensively. He scowls and huffs, “I just wanted to _look_.” 

“Star Wars wedding cakes?” Scott asks, looking skeptical. 

“You haven’t seen the movies, you don’t get to voice an opinion on this,” Stiles says haughtily. 

“Stiles no,” Derek says.

“Stiles yes,” Stiles insists. “And look! How perfect would this be?” He spins the laptop so Derek can see the screen. “A little Stiles-Han Solo, and a furry Chewie Derek for our cake topper! It’s _awesome_.” 

“I regret everything,” Derek states, turning and facing the windows again.

“As bizarrely fascinating as this car crash of a situation is, could we please focus on finding a reversal spell?” Peter asks. 

“Right, yes, on it!” 

A snarl comes from outside, and Derek tenses, claws out and ready to engage and protect. Stiles might swoon, just a little. “Why are there monsters following you?” Derek asks, sounding irritated as something wooden outside gets broken. He stalks to the window and looks out. “There are things fighting in my front yard Scott.” 

“It’s not my fault!” Scott argues, folding his arms over his chest. Allison brushes a hand over his hair comfortingly. “I didn’t _make_ them follow me! I was just at home, and then woah monsters. They chased me! You know, when they weren’t attacking each other…” 

“Hold on,” Allison says slowly, “this is weirdly familiar.” She sits on the arm of the sofa and frowns. “Monster magnet… Lydia, she said that since you were bitten, Beacon Hills is like the real life version of Sunnydale, and it has to be your fault. You attract monsters and supernatural weirdness. And Peter doesn’t see anything, is wilfully blind to the pack. That Derek and Stiles are so obviously obsessed with each other and should just _get married_ … It’s Lydia. It has to be. Lydia did this.” 

“I will it so,” Stiles says slowly, realisation dawning. “She did a spell, to make her will happen,” he adds, fingers flying over the keyboard as he searches the specifics of the spell. 

“I’m going to call Lydia,” Allison says, jumping up and pulling her phone from her pocket. “Here Stiles, take this.” She hands him a sheathed knife she yanks from her boot, and stomps off through to the kitchen. 

 

*****

 

It’s chaos. The windows to the front room have been smashed, and there are four unconscious bodies lying either draped on the windowsill or scattered around the room, each sporting unnatural skin colours, or bizarre tufts of body hair. They look like, well, monsters. Like nothing they’ve actually encountered in Beacon Hills, but like storybook monsters. 

Derek is snarling violently and fighting two of the things, having leapt out onto his porch once the windows were breached, and Allison is shooting arrows into the dark beyond with methodical precision and timing. Stiles and Peter have both been barricaded behind the sofa, much to Peter’s chagrin, but he’s currently one of the vulnerable ones in need of protection. 

“Derek! Make sure nothing destroys the foliage,” Stiles shouts out over the back of the sofa. “We need it to look perfect for the pictures!” 

“I’m not posing for pictures Stiles,” Derek calls back, tossing a monster ten feet through the air. Derek flips off the porch, because _of course_ he does. God forbid a werewolf _ever_ use the stairs. 

“Babyyyy!” Stiles whines loudly. 

“Really not the time,” Derek grunts back, kicking a hefty looking furred thing off of himself. 

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over!” 

“Shocker,” Derek retorts, breaking off into a snarl. There’s the sound of a body hitting the ground, hard.

“Kick their asses my big strong Wolfman,” Stiles cheers. 

“I hate everything,” Scott whines, ducking a swiping clawed hand and issuing a sharp jab to the place where the monster’s kidneys _might_ be. 

Derek leaps back in through the window having beaten off most of the monsters, and Scott has taken care of any that got past him, offering them a few moments of respite. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, rushing over to where Stiles is crouched, bat clutched in his hands. He grabs Stiles and pulls him against his chest, kissing him soundly before Stiles can even answer. Stiles moans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, losing himself in it. Derek’s arms are strong around him, and he sinks into them, feeling safe and protected, heart racing with adrenaline. It’s a feeling he didn’t realise he was missing, until it’s suddenly there for the taking. 

…And then it hits him like a punch to the gut. His hands tightening and breath bursting from him in a rush. He’s steady one moment, fighting off the urge to pass out the next. Feeling like the world is tilting on it’s axis. “Fuck,” Stiles hisses, squeezing his eyes closed. Awareness comes rushing back, and he realises there are arms around him, and with a sudden, crushing clarity, _he remembers_. 

“Jesus!” Derek snarls, pushing Stiles away and wiping his hand over the back of his mouth. Stiles thinks he might be insulted. 

“Oh God,” he cries. “Derek mouth! Mouth of Derek! _In_ my mouth!” he wails, grabbing Peter’s abandoned glass of Scotch from the table and downing it. 

Lydia comes running in from the kitchen, having entered the house through the back door. “Oh God, are you all okay?” she pants, as dishevelled as she ever gets. Meaning she’s breathless and strands of hair are coming loose from their braid, but it looks purposeful and chic. 

“No! I’m so not okay!” Stiles yelps. “I’m a world away from okay!” 

“Drama queen,” Derek mutters, looking annoyed. “If anyone should be complaining here, it’s me.” 

“Oh ho. No, that’s where you’re _wrong_ big guy. I’m a _catch_!” Stiles hisses. 

“You wanted _Wing Beneath my Wings_ as the first dance Stiles.” Derek raises a brow in judgement, and Stiles can hear Allison stifling a giggle. It all makes him feel slightly gutted and vulnerable. 

“I…” he tries, blinking rapidly. “It was my mom’s favourite song,” he says quietly, an ache blooming in his throat. 

“Fuck,” Derek sighs, stepping closer. “I’m sorry Stiles,” he adds, resting a hand on Stiles shoulder. It’s a familiar touch from Derek, and it’s grounding. Stiles shrugs though, and keeps his eyes lowered. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lydia says, looking around the room. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t realise the spell had worked, but Stiles was right. I wasn’t in any fit state to be trying spells in the first place. I’m still not.” She looks horribly uncomfortable to be apologising, with her words all stilted and halting. 

“Stiles is always right,” Stiles mumbles, trying to break the tension. It works, because Derek scoffs and Lydia smiles and Scott nods in agreement. He looks up at Derek, who is standing in front of him, and immediately flushes with embarrassment. “I uh. I’m going to go home,” Stiles announces, edging towards the front door. “I’ll see you all at some point, you know, when I can actually look you in the eye without… flashbacks.” 

Derek glares at him, but doesn’t protest when Stiles backs away. 

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Stiles suddenly blurts, looking terrified. “My dad thinks I’m _engaged!”_ and with that he runs out the back door, turns Roscoe’s engine over, and guns it down the dirt driveway as fast as he can, heading towards the Sherriff’s office. He needs to do some serious damage control.

 

*****

 

He isn’t surprised to find Derek waiting outside of his classroom. He wishes he could duck into the crowd of students and run away, but he knows Derek can smell him. It would be a fruitless exercise in failed escape, and so he takes a breath and walks over to where Derek is leaning against the wall. He’s wearing one of his leather jackets, and looks so much like he used to, when he was all angry and snarling. A leather jacket is like Derek’s equivalent of armour, so Stiles knows whatever he’s here to say isn’t something he actually really wants to say. 

They’ve been successfully avoiding each other for the past week, and Stiles would be okay with that continuing on, at least for a little while. 

“Heeey Derek,” he says, admittedly sounding awkward and a little guilty, as though he’d been caught out. He rubs his hand over the back of his head and bobs a bit on the spot. 

“Stiles,” Derek greets gruffly. 

“What’s up?” Stiles says casually, hooking his thumbs around his bag straps. 

“We need to talk.” 

“Okay wow, ominous,” Stiles says, pulling a face. 

Derek doesn’t even roll his eyes, so Stiles’ stomach sinks like a stone. 

“Look dude, we don’t need to talk about this. It was a spell, it’s fine. I’m not gonna, you know, leak feelings all over you or whatever.” 

“I didn’t think you would,” Derek says, frowning. 

“So we’re fine. Cool. A-okay.” He turns to go, already picturing his exact escape route that will get him to his dorm room fastest. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, reaching out and grabbing Stiles around the upper arm, halting his movement. Stiles sees his escape go up in a puff of smoke. “Look, what if-” Derek cuts himself off, and gets a pinched look on his face, mouth tightening. He looks like he’d rather be doing anything on earth than this right now, and Stiles’ curiosity is piqued as to what Derek wants to say, what is important enough for him to be subjecting himself to this. 

“What if…?” he prompts, looking at Derek expectantly. 

“What if… It was me. With,” he pauses again, and scowls. “With feelings,” he nearly spits out, immediately folding his arms across his chest. 

“I’m sorry but what?” Stiles asks, incredulous. “Is this a new spell? Are there more spells?” 

“No Stiles,” Derek huffs, voice insistent. “It’s not. It’s not a spell.” Derek looks a little pained and stares down the hallway, as though he’s the one now picturing the escape route. 

“Okay but how do you know? Because that spell felt pretty frickin’ real, Derek. So _how do you know_?” 

“Because I felt it before!” Derek snaps abruptly, pushing away from the wall and putting space between them. He watches people as they walk through the halls, taking deep breaths while Stiles watches him, mouth hanging open. “This isn’t new for me Stiles,” he adds quietly, hands loose at his sides. 

“So… you want to marry me?” Stiles asks, feeling the starting of a smirk. 

“No Stiles, I don’t want to marry you, I’m not _that_ far gone,” Derek says dryly, giving Stiles a look that just screams _you idiot_. 

“Then what?” 

“A date?” Derek asks after a pause. 

“Let me just get this clear in my head, because I’m still not sure this is actually reality. You, Derek- _I’m-the-Alpha-now-_ Hale, are asking little old me, Stiles Stilinski, on a date?” 

“Regretting it now…” Derek sighs, huffing. 

“Dude. You want to date me!” 

“If you start quoting Miss Congeniality, I’m out of here Stiles.” 

“Oh my God I can’t believe you even know that, who _are_ you?”

“Laura loved that movie. We did have, you know, TV and movies and even the Internet when I was younger.” 

“I need to reassess everything I know about you,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at Derek and grinning. 

“Stiles…” he sighs. 

“Starting with a date,” Stiles says, with a decisive nod. “Including a billion awkward first date getting to know you questions that I’m pretty sure we both skipped over what with all the life and death peril stuff.” 

“I… Okay. I can do that,” Derek nods, looking tentatively hopeful. 

“Okay. Good. So um. Dating. Is a thing we will do.” 

“Yeah, I was aware of that when I asked,” Derek says flatly. He puts his hand in his pockets and rocks his weight back, looking abruptly nervous. “I’ll uh, pick you up at 7?” 

Stiles grins, face nearly aching with the size of his smile. “Yup,” he agrees, nodding. 

He throws in a wink and finger guns, because he’s _Stiles._

“It’s a date.” 


End file.
